


Come, kneel (at my altar)

by Phoenix_Soar



Series: Wicked Thing [13]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 18th Century, Angel/Demon Relationship, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/F, Face-Sitting, Female-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Nipple Play, Nun Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pillow Principality Aziraphale (Good Omens), Porn with Feelings, Scissoring, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Shameless Smut, She/Her Pronouns for Aziraphale (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:34:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25075453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_Soar/pseuds/Phoenix_Soar
Summary: ‘What do you want, angel?’ Pocketing the glasses, Crowley steps closer. ‘A memory for you to revisit, until my return?’Ahead of a long assignment, Crowley seeks out Aziraphale to see if the Angel needed her to cover a miracle under their Arrangement. She ends up leaving Aziraphale with a special memory to endure their separation.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Wicked Thing [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546879
Comments: 27
Kudos: 150





	Come, kneel (at my altar)

**Author's Note:**

> Part 13 of my 'Wicked Thing' verse. Please read the first part ['Wicked Games'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21286790) to understand the premise of this series. (This fic also references ['A Question of Fidelity’](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23438815), recommended but not necessary to understand this one.)
> 
> F I N A L L Y here come the Ineffable Wives. This fic is set outside a monastery in Italy 1750 - an encounter mentioned previously in [‘Sweet Offerings’](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22803700) and [‘Love Handles’](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22957387)
> 
> This exists bc the Good Omens opening gave us nun!Aziraphale and I lost my shit
> 
> If that bothers you, **be warned** : here be nun!Aziraphale and sex, in that order. Neither Crowley nor I hold back on the filth. Honestly, the title is its own warning.

Crowley is a reckless thing, which one may not be surprised to discover had a hand in how she ended up burnt.

Crowley is a reckless thing and she is playing with more fire, standing outside the walls of a monastery on the outskirts of a small Italian town.

While a Demon has no business at a holy place to begin with, the simple milkmaid Crowley is passing off as is not better off; for _she_ supposedly works on a farm three villages over and has little reason to be fifty miles away from ‘home’.

Or so it would seem but for the fact that not all the souls inside this particular holy house are of earthly origin.

One of them is distinctly ethereal and Crowley is emanating the strongest aura of infernal energy*she possibly can to announce her presence**.

(* Inside the monastery, the prioress, who is lecturing an unruly addition to the sisterhood, feels the hair on the back of her neck stiffen. She passes it off as a reaction to the new aspirant’s borderline blasphemous questions.

** Crowley’s preferred style of popping up unannounced at her _Adversary_ ’s shoulder is not feasible inside a consecrated place. Rather irritating, that.)

Avoiding the wrought iron gates of the entrance, Crowley prowls around the imposing walls, keeping to the shadows until she reaches the back of the monastery. A small oaken door, almost hidden beneath creeping ivy, is the only thing that breaks the monotony of unforgiving brick.

Mere yards from the wall begin the edges of a wood that abuts the monastery, stretching away for miles on either side, marking the eastern borders of this rural town.

Under these trees, Crowley skulks with patience honed over thousands of years and reserved for only one being in existence.

She doesn’t have to wait long before said being emerges from the bowels of the blessed place. A grating creak breaks the silence of the woodland air as the back door is pushed open.

Still hidden, Crowley cracks a grin. It’s not that she wasn’t expecting it considering this is a _monastery_ , but still - it’s jarringly rare to see Aziraphale in a _habit_.

Almost as rare as seeing Aziraphale in a woman-shaped body. Almost.

Anxious blue eyes scan over the trees as she carefully steps outside, a pale hand reaching behind her to shut the heavy door with deceptive ease. While Aziraphale searches for her visitor, Crowley takes her fill of the Angel.

It has been nearly forty years since their last meeting in the Highlands of Scotland, but only five years before that they had met in London, and Aziraphale - hell, she’d been wearing this same body then.

It’s a little shocking if Crowley is honest. Centuries, if not millennia, tend to pass between Crowley’s glimpses of Aziraphale in a female form, and _that_ is if the Demon is lucky. What with both of them preferring male appearances, Aziraphale even more so, Crowley can’t remember a time - if there’d been any - she saw Aziraphale presenting as a woman so close together.

And yet, Aziraphale cannot have looked more different from that last time in London. _Then_ she had been dressed in the prettiest of silks, revealing far too much skin and the picture of temptation within the walls of a royal palace.

Now, nothing but her lovely round face is visible, framed by a white coif. Her hair, once piled elegantly on top of her head, is sternly tucked away under her bandeau and black veil. And her pleated habit is as far from the enticing gown Crowley had once ripped off her body, as a piece of garment could possibly be.

One may imagine that between the two, an Angel of the Lord would look more at home in the garb of a Sister.

But Crowley knows this particular Angel better than any other, and she knows -

‘That doesn’t suit you at all.’

She speaks just as Aziraphale’s eyes land on her location. They widen slightly as the Demon steps out from behind the trees onto the grassy ground separating the monastery from the woods.

‘Crowley,’ says Aziraphale.

‘Hullo, Aziraphale,’ Crowley returns with a sharp grin, coming to a stop a few feet away.

The Angel continues to stare, her eyes flicking over Crowley’s face before slowly travelling down her body.

Crowley preens a little at the attention. Aziraphale’s gaze linger on her hips and chest, and Crowley’s grin widens; it has been a long time since the Angel saw _her_ in this form.

‘Well, this is rare, eh?’ Crowley drawls, gesturing carelessly between their bodies.

‘Are you a _milkmaid_?’ Aziraphale sounds positively scandalised.

‘Er, yes?’

‘Why are _you_ a milkmaid?’

Crowley crocks an eyebrow, somewhat affronted. ‘Is that a problem? You’d think I was dressed like _you_ from such a reaction.’

‘I’m not the one with my bosom almost on display,’ Aziraphale retorts. ‘Ladies who work farmland _do_ dress with a bit more propriety, dear bo … girl.’

Crowley is amused. Aziraphale surely knows that _Demons_ who work farmland most certainly would _not_.

In fact, Crowley’s choice to not wear a shawl, the way most girls tuck them into their bodices to cover up their décolletage, is more than deliberate. It makes her current assignment to tempt people into lust and wrath a breeze. In her low-cut shift and dark dress, with her small breasts pushed up and emphasised by her stays, and an apron to add _just_ the right touch of ‘simple and pious’, Crowley knows she looks _devastating*_. She has but to take a stroll through the marketplace before men are falling over themselves and their women seething.

(* And if in the process, it also encourages her employer, a randy old sod with more blood in his prick than his brain, to chase Crowley - in vain - instead of the pretty, virginal girl who works the farm on weekends … well, no one else has to know.)

Instead, Crowley deflects Aziraphale’s censure with a pointed, ‘I recall a time when it wasn’t _my_ tits drawing the eye of every lord in a ballroom.’

A smirk curves her lips at Aziraphale’s immediate reaction, the Angel’s cheeks glowing red as she breaks eye contact.

’T-that was -’

‘Different?’ Crowley supplies, only slightly mocking. ‘I’m dressed to tempt for my job, you were dressed to tempt suitors. In either case,’ Crowley takes a step forward, ‘ _temptation_ was accomplished.’

Aziraphale’s mouth drops open a little and Crowley, feeling smug, knows that the Angel is reliving how successfully _Crowley_ had been tempted last time. And how well that evening ended for both of them.

Clearing her throat, Aziraphale says, attempting a more business-like tone, ‘Why are you here? I cannot imagine your reason for seeking me out while I’m in a _monastery_.’

‘I’m not fool enough to enter.’ Crowley rolls her eyes. ‘Though I’m not complaining,’ she adds, gaze lingering on the Angel’s chest. Covered up though she is, there is no hiding the fullness of Aziraphale’s breasts.

Her distraction does not go unnoticed and Aziraphale reddens further. ‘C-Crowley,’ she stammers.

‘Hmm? Oh yeah. My work around these parts is ending. Hell is sending me off to the east. China.’

‘Oh.’ A crease appears between Aziraphale’s brows.

‘Any miracle work needs doing over there?’ Crowley flashes a conspiratorial smile. ‘Thought I could cover for you under the _Arrange_ -’

Aziraphale shushes her. ‘Not so loud!’

‘No one’s listening, angel,’ says Crowley, lips twitching at her friend’s predictable response. ‘So?’

‘Oh, um, no,’ says Aziraphale. ‘I’m to work here for several more months. Upstairs hasn’t informed me of my next assignment yet.’

‘Huh.’

‘How … long are they keeping you in the east?’ Aziraphale asks.

‘Few years at least, from the looks of it.’

‘Years?’ Aziraphale repeats quietly.

Crowley shrugs. ‘New dynasties, new mischief, more work.’

Aziraphale doesn’t respond this time, regarding Crowley unblinkingly.

As the abrupt silence grows loaded, Crowley begins to fidget, shoving her hands into the pockets of her apron.

‘So … if there aren’t any blessings to do,’ Crowley clears her throat and begins to back away, ‘I’ll just - ?’

‘Wait.’ Aziraphale reaches out, her hand hovering awkwardly in the empty space between them. ‘You’re not leaving already?’

Crowley stops, raising an eyebrow. She waits.

‘I mean,’ Aziraphale says, bringing her hand back to fiddle with the crucifix around her neck. ‘You’ll be away … for a long time.’

‘Not a very long time.’

‘Years, you said…’

Slowly, Crowley slips off her dark glasses, revealing her eyes for the first time. And like always, Aziraphale stares, drinking in the sight shamelessly, sending a lurch through Crowley’s chest.

‘Years, yes,’ says Crowley softly. She doesn’t point out that years, if not decades, without meeting is the norm for them; not when Aziraphale is projecting her unspoken desires loud and clear.

‘What do you want, angel?’ Pocketing the glasses, Crowley steps closer. ‘A memory for you to revisit, until my return?’

Aziraphale swallows and the motion is visible even with her coif. ‘We … we shouldn’t’, she whispers.

After all these centuries, those words - a disguised catalyst to what will unfold next - nearly make Crowley smile.

‘Shouldn’t we?’ Crowley takes another step.

‘I …’ Aziraphale’s voice is breathy. ‘It’s almost sunset. The vespers begin soon.’

‘And I leave soon.’

‘My absence will be noticed at the prayers -’

Another step and Crowley is right in Aziraphale’s space, their noses almost touching. The Angel’s voice dies out.

‘And I can make you sing the Lord’s name louder than your prayers.’

Aziraphale gasps, a sound no more scandalised than it brims with arousal.

With a sharp smile, Crowley delivers the finishing blow. ‘Be an angel and get rid of the crucifix, will ya? And I’ll make good on my word.’

In the blink of an eye, the crucifix around Aziraphale’s neck and the rosary at her belt vanish, as do her head coverings in their entirety, sending the Angel’s white-blonde hair tumbling about her shoulders.

The items reappear in a heap upon the grass, out of Crowley’s line of vision.

Crowley bares her teeth in a sly grin. ‘My, my, angel, are all nuns this eager to be debauched?’

Aziraphale doesn’t react, standing still and rigid in front of Crowley. She is breathing hard, her chest heaving under her habit, and her blue eyes burn at Crowley with a desperation the Demon has learnt to read all too well.

‘Crowley … please.’

_Fuck._

Exhaling sharply, Crowley moves forward, bringing Aziraphale flush against her. With that single movement, Aziraphale comes alive, her hands immediately finding their way into Crowley’s hair, unceremoniously pulling off her cap to free the long red curls.

Crowley barely registers any of it before Aziraphale’s lips meet hers, and then nothing else matters anymore. With a needy sound, Crowley anchors Aziraphale to her body, caressing down her back to feel the Angel’s warmth through the rough fabric of her habit before swiftly undoing her woollen belt, a miracle at her fingers.

Aziraphale breaks off the kiss to allow Crowley to pull off her belt. Before Crowley can get to her skirts, intending to yank the habit over her head, Aziraphale closes in again, pressing their mouths together. As their tongues tangle in a messy grapple, her hands slide down along Crowley’s neck, brushing over her shoulders before they dip further to grasp her breasts.

Crowley makes a surprised but not displeased sound into Aziraphale’s mouth, her focus derailed as Aziraphale’s fingers map the exposed tops of her breasts. Her palms feel fever warm as they press into the soft flesh, exploring and massaging lightly before her fingertips catch on the top of Crowley’s bodice, seeking the nipples hidden underneath.

Chuckling, Crowley leans back to smirk at Aziraphale. ‘No more complaints about my _bosom on display_?’

Without giving her the chance to reply, Crowley drags her hands up around Aziraphale to grope at the Angel’s own chest. Upon being thwarted by a hard bodice underneath Aziraphale’s habit, covering her plush tits - _of course_ Aziraphale is wearing stays and other undergarments - Crowley growls under her breath.

She has half a mind to claw off every scrap of cloth hiding Aziraphale from her, when the Angel grasps her wrists.

‘Wait,’ Aziraphale whispers urgently. She glances over her shoulder. ‘Someone might see!’

Crowley looks up dubiously at the high walls of the monastery, casting its shadows over them as sundown approaches.

‘Doubt anyone can see us from this angle,’ Crowley says. ‘Unless they come through that door.’

‘And if they do?’

‘We can just bar it -’ Crowley is cut off as Aziraphale grabs her by the shoulders to push her backwards, the Angel’s strength unyielding until they are under the canopy at the edge of the woods, hidden from the monastery’s upper levels.

‘This works too,’ Crowley says cheerfully, huffing a laugh as she is backed up against a tree.

To her surprise, Aziraphale doesn’t immediately resume their kiss, instead gazing at Crowley, a question in her eyes as her hands slip down to rest on her chest again.

Crowley looks back at her, feeling a shift in the air between them. The desperation in Aziraphale’s eyes have not dimmed, but there is more there; something soft and vulnerable, full of longing and things Crowley doesn’t dare name for fear of getting them wrong.

She wonders if it is the news of her going away that has the Angel so agitated and needy.

They’ve often gone long periods of time without contact, during their individual missions which, Crowley is certain, must have flung them far apart from each other.

But perhaps it hits a little differently to be told as such, to actually _know_ it; that you are to be separated from the one being you always come back to, kept apart by continents and oceans for however many years it may take before a reunion appears on the horizon.

Crowley softens at the thought. She herself has never liked being away from Aziraphale for too long, a sentiment she has always fought to bottle down.

Yet now, at this indication that Aziraphale possibly feels the same way about separation, Crowley feels a glimmer of hope spark within her.

‘Angel,’ she breathes, pinned under Aziraphale’s piercing gaze.

Glancing down at the Angel’s hands resting on her bosom, Crowley wishes away her clothes, sending her dress, stays and apron into the ether until only her shift remains.

Aziraphale breathes in sharply at the abrupt feel of tender flesh under her palms, separated only by a thin layer of fine linen. She brings her hands down farther, resting her fingers under Crowley’s bust as she stares at the shape of Crowley’s firm breasts, all too visible under the too-sheer chemise.

‘Angel,’ Crowley repeats, feeling breathless, ‘you can touch me.’

Exhaling shakily, Aziraphale does. Crowley bites her lips as Aziraphale closes her hands over her, the warm fingers on the bare tops of her breasts contrasting deliciously with the scratch of linen over her covered nipples.

Aziraphale rubs at her again, until Crowley’s nipples are denting the white cloth at which point the Angel abruptly yanks down the neckline. As low-cut as the shift is, the tug is all it takes to free Crowley’s breasts, her skin immediately prickling in the cooling air.

‘Oh,’ Aziraphale sighs, returning her hands immediately to the uncovered, sensitive flesh.

‘They’re not new,’ Crowley reminds her, breath catching in her throat under Aziraphale’s unrelenting touch.

‘No, but … I haven’t seen you like this in a very long time,’ Aziraphale admits, seeming almost shy.

That expression is gone in the next instant as Aziraphale, without warning, leans down to flick her tongue over Crowley’s right nipple, licking delicately again and again before sucking the nub into her mouth.

Crowley can’t bite back the moan that falls from her lips. She winds her fingers through Aziraphale’s hair as the Angel kisses over her breasts, sucking incessantly on her nipples under they are red and straining. Heat begins to pool in her gut, sending a quiver through her moistening cunt.

As if made aware of the fact, Aziraphale relinquishes Crowley’s breasts to go down on her knees, grabbing at the skirt of the shift to bunch it up at Crowley’s hips.

‘Aziraphale,’ says Crowley, eyes wide.

The Angel looks up, her expression a marriage of desire and affection. ‘It really has been too long,’ she whispers.

Next thing Crowley knows, Aziraphale is heaving her right leg over the Angel’s shoulder, smoothing a hand along her thigh in a soothing caress.

Meeting Crowley’s eyes, Aziraphale leans in, slow enough for Crowley to turn her away. She doesn’t.

The touch of the Angel’s tongue along her folds makes her shiver. Leaning heavily against the tree, Crowley holds up her shift in one hand and sinks the other into Aziraphale’s hair again, trusting the Angel to help keep her balance.

At the encouragement, Aziraphale closes her eyes and, as the humans will come to say much later, goes to fucking town.

‘Fuck,’ Crowley cries as Aziraphale’s tongue parts her slick labia to lick long stripes from her entrance to her clit.

Aziraphale keeps at it, probing at Crowley’s vagina with her tongue and licking up to smear the gathered juices over her clit and hood. Crowley digs her right heel into the Angel’s back, curving her hips up to give Aziraphale a better angle.

With muffled sounds of pleasure, Aziraphale bobs her head, repeating the pilgrimage from cunt to clit over and over until Crowley’s legs are shaking.

Crowley gasps when Aziraphale swirls her tongue over her clit then, before eagerly sucking it into her mouth.

‘Blessed Heaven.’ Crowley’s voice comes out half-hiss, half-growl. ‘What a good nun, eh … is .. is this - oh! Is this what they teach the Sisters back there? How - how to eat quim with aplomb?’

A blush grazes Aziraphale’s cheeks at Crowley’s vulgar words, but she doesn’t stop.

Moaning, Crowley thinks the very obscenity of the sight - Aziraphale in a nun’s vestments and on her knees, eating Crowley’s pussy with relish - is enough to make her come.

But like hell Crowley’d allow that to happen, not before she has Aziraphale on the edge with her.

With a sharp tug on the blonde curls, she urges the Angel off. Aziraphale obliges with visible reluctance, wiping her slick-smeared mouth on her hand.

‘Why’d you stop me?’

Wordlessly, Crowley miracles a larger-than-necessary blanket on the ground beside their tree, and pushes Aziraphale down onto her back.

‘Because,’ Crowley says, sibilance leaking into her words as she crawls up to loom over the Angel’s supine body, ’I’m gonna fucking discorporate if I don’t get my mouth on you this instant.’

The overwhelming flash of arousal across Aziraphale’s face makes Crowley positively throb.

Just as Crowley rakes her eyes over Aziraphale, preparing to miracle the Angel naked*, Aziraphale says abruptly, ‘Was that all right, just now?’

(* Much as Crowley would like to tear every piece of clothing off Aziraphale, she has neither Aziraphale’s green-light to do so nor the patience to actually go through with it right now.)

Crowley stills, furrowing her eyebrows. ‘What’d you mean?’

Aziraphale licks her lips slowly, the blood rush to her cheeks obvious even in the fading light. ‘I … I’m not - I don’t have the skills that you …’ With a cough, Aziraphale averts her gaze. ‘I can’t … do things with my tongue the way you can and -’

‘Angel,’ Crowley says, disbelief colouring her voice. ‘Are you serious?’

‘I mean, _you’re_ exceedingly talented with your -’ Aziraphale begins, a little defensively.

Crowley cuts her off with a finger to her lips, reaching under her shift with her other hand. Eyes widening, Aziraphale watches with surprise as Crowley swipes three fingers through her soaked folds before bringing them to Aziraphale’s mouth.

‘Open,’ says Crowley pointedly, a command.

The Angel parts her lips at once, readily sucking on Crowley’s slick-smeared fingers as they press inside.

‘Taste that?’ Crowley asks.

Aziraphale nods, flushed and embarrassed and mouth stuffed full.

‘You think an untalented tongue can do this to my cunt?’

The Angel blushes even harder and Crowley smirks.

‘Although,’ Crowley drawls, pressing her fingers in deeper to stroke Aziraphale’s tongue before drawing them out, ‘I have every intention of making an even bigger mess of _yours_. Complaints, angel?’

Swallowing, Aziraphale shakes her head.

‘Hmm, didn’t think so.’

Raising an eyebrow, Crowley gives Aziraphale another once-over. Without warning, she snaps her fingers.

Aziraphale’s habit disappears, to manifest beside her head coverings and crucifix in the grass beyond the woods’ borders.

The Angel makes a noise of surprise, looking down at her body, now covered in her undergarments, stays and stockings.

A snap of Crowley’s fingers again and Aziraphale’s petticoats vanish. Another snap and then her stays.

One by one, Crowley whittles down Aziraphale’s clothes, removing layer by layer until at last the Angel, squirming and flushed, is in nothing but her own shift.

Smirking with satisfaction, Crowley lowers her hand. Aziraphale’s shift is nowhere near as sheer as Crowley’s, but the linen is thin and soft enough that it leaves little to the imagination. The shift highlights the soft voluptuousness of Aziraphale’s body, and Crowley doesn’t even try to veil her greed as she hungrily feasts her eyes on the Angel.

With a finger, Crowley presses lightly on Aziraphale’s mound over the linen, just shy of her hood and clit. Breath hitching, Aziraphale bucks her hips, trying to get Crowley’s finger lower; the Demon immediately removes her hand and Aziraphale whines.

‘Do you want to be touched, little nun?’ Crowley croons, hovering her finger teasingly over her mound again. Aziraphale makes a noise of frustration and aching need, but Crowley doesn’t relent. ‘Tell me, do you? Do you want the devil’s filthy hands on your saintly, untouched body?’

‘Please don - I’m not a nun,’ Aziraphale protests.

‘And you’re not untouched, either,’ Crowley returns evenly. ‘You’re an Angel that let a dirty Demon deflower you in every manner possible. Does that sound better?’

Mild shock flickers in Aziraphale’s eyes. ‘Crowley,’ she moves as if to cup Crowley’s face, but then hesitates, diverting to her shoulder instead, ‘you’re … you’re not dirty.’

Crowley blinks.

‘You’re not. And I do want it.’

‘What?’

‘Your hands.’ Aziraphale voice is but a breath. ‘On my body.’

Crowley hesitates, thinking on Aziraphale’s earlier words. There is a deeper message there, in the depths of Aziraphale’s cryptic but earnest statement; one that Crowley thinks she understands but doesn’t want to acknowledge right now.

It’s one of those things Aziraphale says or does, hinting at something that threatens to give Crowley far too much hope.

Swallowing, Crowley pushes the thought away.

‘In that case,’ she tells Aziraphale, ‘you lie there and don’t move. It’s my turn now.’

This time, Aziraphale stills obediently, her only movement the rise and fall of her chest as Crowley presses the tip of her index finger to her mound again. However, instead of dipping down, Crowley begins to drag her finger up Aziraphale’s body.

The shift creases as Crowley’s finger passes over the swell of her lower belly, dipping into her navel and down to her sternum before changing course; grazing the underside of Aziraphale’s left breast, Crowley’s finger comes to rest over a pebbled nipple, rubbing ever so lightly over the linen.

There is a sharp intake of breath, and before Crowley knows it, her finger is pressing on a naked breast, the shift having vanished off the Angel without warning.

In that moment, Crowley becomes aware of the cool air on her own body.

Raising an eyebrow, Crowley looks sharply down at Aziraphale, lying nude and ready beneath her.

‘I didn’t move,’ Aziraphale says simply, tone belying her wanton look as she shamelessly eyes Crowley’s nakedness in turn.

Crowley snorts. ‘You’re a real piece of work, angel.’

She circles her finger over the hardened nipple, watching the bloom of pleasure on Aziraphale’s face. Smiling, Crowley guides her finger down to the valley between Aziraphale’s heavy breasts, marking an agonising trail over to the neglected tit.

‘Crowley, please,’ Aziraphale whines as Crowley teases her other nipple to hardness. Her hands are clenched at her sides.

‘Please what?’ Crowley leaves Aziraphale’s breasts, passing her finger over her clavicle to dip into the hollow of her throat.

‘You said,’ Aziraphale sucks in a breath, ‘you said you’d touch me.’

‘And what do you call this?’ Crowley fingers up the arc of her throat to press at Aziraphale’s parted lips.

‘Teasing,’ the Angel complains just as Crowley slips her finger into her mouth.

Crowley laughs. ‘You really are an impatient thing, aren’t you?’ She crooks her finger inside Aziraphale’s mouth. ‘Suck.’

When Aziraphale doesn’t respond, looking up at Crowley with frustration, Crowley leans down until their lips are centimetres from touching.

‘Suck,’ she repeats quietly, ‘or I won’t put another finger on you. Or in you.’

With a despairing sound, Aziraphale swirls her tongue around Crowley’s slender digit, closing her lips around it quickly.

‘There we are,’ Crowley murmurs. She drops a kiss on the corner of Aziraphale’s occupied mouth and another on her jaw, before slithering down to press her face into the Angel’s chest.

Aziraphale makes a choked sound the moment Crowley’s lips meet her right nipple. Crowley ignores it, instead devoting all of her attention to pleasuring the swelling bud. With meticulous care, Crowley drags the tip of her tongue around the dusky areola, teasing at the sides of the nipple until it is hard and peaked. With a hard lick, she sucks it into her mouth.

Beneath her, Aziraphale is trembling with the effort to not move, still working Crowley’s finger diligently.

Humming contentedly, Crowley tugs lightly at the nipple with her teeth. And then she closes her lips around it, again and again, in wet sipping kisses until Aziraphale arches her back with a cry.

‘Told you not to move,’ Crowley says, pulling off.

‘Please,’ Aziraphale says around Crowley’s finger, her chest heaving.

Crowley presses the tip of her middle finger to Aziraphale’s panting mouth. ‘Suck on another and I might consider not neglecting your other tit.’

Aziraphale immediately obliges and, grinning, Crowley moves over to nuzzle at her left breast. Her threat had been an empty one; Aziraphale’s breasts, round and heavy and tipped with large nipples made for Crowley’s mouth, are among the rarest of treats during their clandestine meetings and Crowley never passes up an opportunity to glut herself on them.

She leaves biting kisses on the soft flesh, nipping over and around Aziraphale’s left breast while cupping the other with her free hand. It fills her palm so perfectly and she massages it, rolling the wet nipple between her fingers while slurping greedily at the other.

With every passing second, Aziraphale’s moans sound louder, muffled though they are by Crowley’s fingers. Panting, she writhes under Crowley’s mouth, shivering as Crowley licks and sucks at the oversensitive bud.

Without relenting her ministrations, Crowley finally slips her fingers free from Aziraphale’s mouth. Nudging Aziraphale’s knees further apart with her own, Crowley reaches down to stroke the spit-slicked fingers right over her clit.

The Angel keens, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the blanket beneath her as Crowley’s fingers circle her clit, the touch alternating between featherlight caresses and hard strokes.

Pleased, Crowley hides a smirk and suckles harder at her tit, matching the movement of her fingers with her tongue over the hard nipple.

‘Crowley!’ Aziraphale cries, writhing underneath her. ‘Oh, oh, my dear, I …!’

Crowley slips her hand down to tease at Aziraphale’s entrance, wetting her fingers on the juices oozing from the Angel’s cunt. She returns to her clit, smearing the swollen nub with more slick, and repeats the movement again, gauging the Angel’s increasingly helpless reactions.

‘Oh, please, please,’ Aziraphale begs, tugging at Crowley’s long hair with one hand.

‘Please what?’ Crowley grunts, returning to pleasure the Angel’s breasts without missing a beat.

‘P-please! Put it - _ohh_! Put them inside me!’

With a single stroke, Crowley slides her fingers from Aziraphale’s clit to inside her dripping cunt, barely meeting any resistance.

‘Oh, _God_!’ Aziraphale wails, throwing her head back on the ground, her blonde curls fanning her head like a halo.

Crowley finally lifts her head, lips curving up in a triumphant smile. ‘There it is. Told you I’d make good on my word, didn’t I.’

Panting, Aziraphale looks dazedly up at her. With a kiss to her parted lips, Crowley pulls out of Aziraphale and is immediately met with a sound of protest.

‘No, don’t -’

‘Oh, I’m not done with you yet, angel,’ Crowley says with a dark chuckle. She settles down beside Aziraphale, lying on her back on the blanket. ’Let’s see if I can’t have you screaming for your Lord louder.’

Aziraphale’s whole face is red, arousal warring with shame. ‘I - I didn’t mea -’

‘Kneel.’

Aziraphale freezes. ‘What?’ she whispers.

‘Kneel,’ Crowley repeats quietly. ‘Kneel, as you do in prayer and confession. Kneel over my face, and I’ll make you sing.’

The Angel positively trembles, her lips parting on a shudder. Shakily, she sits up. Crowley watches, not moving, not touching, until Aziraphale crawls up to swing a quivering leg over Crowley’s shoulder; Crowley steadies her by the hips, helping Aziraphale into position.

No sooner than Aziraphale is kneeling over Crowley that the Demon feels slick dripping on to her chin. Her own desire spiking, Crowley gazes up at the vision hovering over her face; the plump, pink lips of Aziraphale’s cunt glistening and oozing with her juices, and her lovely clit, swollen and protruding under the thatch of blonde curls on her mound.

Aziraphale is gazing down at Crowley, worrying her lower lip with her teeth.

‘Clasp your hands together,’ Crowley says softly.

‘What?’

‘Is that not how you are supposed to kneel?’ Crowley gives a small smile.

‘I shouldn’t,’ Aziraphale whispers, breathing hard.

Crowley wraps her arms around Aziraphale’s thighs, soothing her hands over her plush hips. ‘I won’t let you fall.’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ murmurs the Angel, but she does it anyway, carefully clasping her hands in front of her chest.

At that very moment, Crowley tightens her grip, bringing the Angel’s cunt down onto her waiting mouth.

‘Oh!’ Aziraphale cries as a slick tongue, inhumanly long and twisting with serpentine strength, parts her folds with a hard lick to press inside her.

With a hum, Crowley caresses the hot, supple walls of Aziraphale’s pussy with her tongue, swirling it around to get everywhere within reach. The Angel is dripping wet inside, her slick coating Crowley’s tongue and dribbling down over her chin, and Crowley moans along with Aziraphale, eagerly fucking into her.

‘Yes,’ Aziraphale whimpers, unable to sit still. She begins to cant her hips, helped along by the strong hands gripping her as she rides Crowley’s tongue, the undulating muscle reaching deeper inside than her fingers ever could*.

(* Although neither of them has ever brought it up, the reach of Crowley’s tongue is only surpassed by cock, when the Demon deigns to wear one.)

‘Yes, just like that…’

Crowley opens her eyes, lazily observing the way Aziraphale’s breasts bounce as she chases her pleasure, her clasped hands taut and her head thrown back.

Easing her tongue out to lap up the juices dripping steadily from the Angel’s pussy, Crowley has just resumed fucking her when -

‘Sister Angela?’

Angel and Demon freeze, both of their eyes - Crowley’s upside down - fixing with alarm on the back door of the monastery, which has begun to creak open.

Within a split second, Crowley’s mind jumps in a thousand different directions, analysing the unprecedented situation. They are under the shadows of a tree, but on the edge of the woods and in plain sight of the door only yards away.

And Aziraphale is kneeling facing the monastery, utterly nude with a Demon’s face between her knees. Although the rest of Crowley’s body is hidden behind the Angel, there is no question as to what they are engaging in.

On instinct, Crowley makes to snap her fingers, with hardly an idea on what to do - but Aziraphale beats her to the miracle.

Next moment, Crowley’s vision is covered in black, and it takes the scratch of rough fabric on her stomach to realise -

Aziraphale has miracled her nun’s vestments back on, clothing her body and spreading her habit’s skirts in a circle around her to hide Crowley from view. Otherwise, she remains as she is, frozen in her kneeling position* over Crowley’s head.

(* Crowley cannot see it, but her hands are still clasped ‘in prayer’, and this will play well into what transpires next.)

There are muffled footfalls and Crowley hears a feminine voice, drawing closer.

‘Sister Angela? Oh, there you are!’

‘Sister Cecilia,’ Crowley hears Aziraphale reply. There is just the slightest tremor in her voice.

‘The vespers are about to begin. I was sent to look for you.’

‘R-right. Well, you found me. Here I am.’

There is a pause.

‘Is everything all right? Why are you in there, by the trees? Did you fall?’ Concern laces the nun’s voice and it draws closer. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘No,’ Aziraphale exclaims, a little hysterical and Crowley hears the nun’s footsteps stop. ‘No, no, dear sister, I’m perfectly all right. I’m … _praying_. As you can see.’

Crowley’s eyebrows shoot up.

‘Praying?’

‘Yes,’ says Aziraphale firmly. ‘I came out for a - a stroll. Through the woods. And - and it was so - so serene and quiet, I was, uh, I was overcome with the lovely atmosphere and,’ she clears her throat, ‘it seemed apt to kneel down in prayer.’

It takes every ounce of self-control for Crowley to bite back the raucous laugh that bubbles up in her chest.

Prayer indeed, she thinks mirthfully, trying not to wheeze.

_Oh, angel_.

Inspired, Crowley decides to give Aziraphale something to really pray about. It is reckless, she knows, and there is every chance that they may give themselves away.

But with the Angel running off her mouth like that, lying through her teeth like _that_ , how is Crowley expected to resist?

Her cunt is still on Crowley’s chin and it takes nothing to subtly adjust her head, the movement undetectable under the habit, to close her lips about Aziraphale’s clit and _suck_.

Aziraphale gasps audibly, her hips jolting a bit.

‘Sister Angela?’

‘I - I’m fine.’ Aziraphale sounds strained.

Smirking, Crowley sucks harder on her clit, careful not to make noise.

‘All right.’ Sister Cecilia sounds doubtful and concerned. When there is nothing more forthcoming, she ventures uncertainly, ‘Will you accompany me inside, for the vespers?’

‘I …’ Aziraphale’s voice trails off momentarily when Crowley switches to licking, flicking her sinuous tongue expertly over the swollen nub. The Angel’s thighs are quivering on either side of Crowley’s head.

‘I shall be along shortly.’ Aziraphale manages at length. ‘Let me,’ her breath hitches, ‘let me just finish my prayer here. I won’t be long.’

‘Very well, Sister Angela.’ The nun sounds dubious, but then her soft footfalls move away. A few seconds later, Crowley hears the creak of the door closing shut.

Aziraphale sags in relief but next moment, she finds herself flipped onto her back, naked once more and pinned to the blanket.

‘Crowley -!’

‘Knelt down in prayer, eh,’ Crowley says with a wicked smile, licking Aziraphale’s slick off her lips.

The shock wears off and the Angel huffs indignantly. ‘Just what did you think you were doing? How could you when she was _right there_ -?’

‘Don’t give me that, Sister _Angela_ ,’ Crowley drawls, pushing Aziraphale’s legs open with her own. ‘You enjoy the risk of humans catching us.’

Aziraphale sputters. ‘W-what on all of earth makes you think -?’

‘A little something that happened in Kensington Palace, shall we say,’ Crowley says with a snigger.

Aziraphale gapes at her, mouth open and blushing. But she doesn’t refute Crowley this time, sighing as the Demon kneads her breasts.

‘I have to go. They might come looking again.’

‘Figured. Well then, we better make this quick, hmm?’

With a final pinch at her nipples, Crowley swings her right leg over Aziraphale’s left, pressing her right knee beside the Angel’s hip. Leaving her left bracketed between Aziraphale’s legs, Crowley sighs with pleasure as she lowers herself to press her cunt to Aziraphale’s.

‘Ahh,’ Aziraphale shudders, gripping at the blanket as Crowley rocks her hips experimentally.

‘Ooh, angel, you’re so wet.’

‘You were licking me,’ Aziraphale gasps. ‘And you’re no better.’

Grasping Aziraphale’s right knee with one hand, Crowley spreads her folds open with the other, exposing her clit. With a whine, Aziraphale reaches down to do the same and whimpers when Crowley rubs on her again.

‘Does this feel all right?’ Crowley asks, voice going rough with need.

‘Yes,’ Aziraphale groans. ‘Please, my dear, just move.’

Hissing under her breath, Crowley begins a slow, hard grind. Soaked as they are from their earlier explorations, the sound of their slick pussies sliding together fans the heat in Crowley’s blood and she revels in the delicious wet friction on her clit.

‘C-Crowley,’ Aziraphale moans, undulating her hips to meet Crowley’s, ‘please … harder!’

The Demon obliges. Any other time, she might have dragged it out, but in the fading light, she is acutely aware that time is running out.

Aziraphale begins to keen, hands coming up to tease at her own nipples. Crowley rubs harder on her, the wet squelch of their cunts meeting egging her on to wring every sound she can out of the Angel.

‘How’s your prayer coming along, Sister Angela?’ Crowley says, voice breaking with pleasure. ‘Are you close to finishing?’

The Angel doesn’t reply, incoherent sounds falling from her sweet lips.

‘Would this memory serve you well while I’m away?’ Crowley continues, hips moving frantically now. ‘Would you _kneel_ for your evening prayer and think of this? Would you fuck your pretty pussy in bed and cry out for me?’

The heat pooling in her gut is steadily reaching its crest and Crowley imagines what Aziraphale will look like as she comes; anticipates the feel of her cunt throbbing against Crowley’s own.

And when it’s over, Crowley will lap up the mix of their salty-sweet juices, licking and sucking until Aziraphale’s pretty cunt is gleaming clean; keep sucking until the Angel’s thighs tighten around Crowley’s head and she is gushing once more into her insatiable mouth.

Crowley wants to have Aziraphale again and again, to wring her beautiful body dry and then fuck her some more, until Aziraphale looks at her with that blissed-out haze in her eyes; until she knows nothing in the world but Crowley, sighing contentedly into Crowley’s loving kisses -

‘Sister Angela!’

‘Fuck,’ Crowley swears out loud, teeth gnashing together.

This time, Aziraphale reacts faster. With a snap of her fingers, she is on her feet and back in her habit, while Crowley - to her disoriented surprise - finds herself behind their tree, hidden from the monastery and fully dressed in her milkmaid outfit.

There is the sound of the oaken door swinging open again.

‘Sister Angela, the prioress is looking for you.’ It’s the same nun as before.

‘Oh. I’m heading right in.’

There is a beat. ‘Are you not done with your prayer still?’ The nun, Sister Cecilia, sounds uncertain.

At her question, Crowley fights down the urge to laugh and scream at the same time. No, they bloody are not _done_.

She feels as tightly wound as a spring, her lust and unfinished pleasure coursing through her body like sluggish blood in her veins. Glancing at Aziraphale, she knows the Angel feels the same, discombobulated and on edge as her orgasm slips further and further from her grasp.

Stiffly, Aziraphale responds, ‘I’m done.’

There is silence again for a long moment before Sister Cecilia awkwardly offers, ‘I am to come in with you. The prioress -’

‘Right.’

‘And the vespers are almost begun.’

‘I understand.’ With a sigh, Aziraphale gestures at Sister Cecilia to lead the way. ‘Let us go in.’

Crowley looks at Aziraphale desperately, wondering if she really will leave things like this. When Aziraphale glances at Crowley, hidden from Cecilia, she knows that their time is well and truly up. Her heart sinks.

In a whisper only Crowley can hear, Aziraphale says, ‘Come find me after China … whenever that is. And on my assignment then, if there’s any temptation, anything you need me to do…’ she trails off meaningfully.

What Crowley _needs_ Aziraphale to do is come back into her arms and finish what they started.

Come back and never leave.

But of course, that’s not on the table. It never was.

‘Sure, angel.’ Crowley sighs. ‘I’ll let you know.’

With a twitch of the lips that is not quite a smile, Aziraphale steps out of from under the canopy. Posture straight and steps measured, she follows the nun back inside the monastery, the picture of pious purity.

For a reckless second, Crowley considers springing out to drag Aziraphale back. Cecilia and the prioress - all of Heaven and Hell - can fuck right off.

Taking a deep breath, she lets the urge go* with a slow exhale, waiting until the door closes behind Aziraphale. With one last longing look, Crowley fades into the shadows of the darkening woods. Until next time then, however many years that may take.

(* Because Crowley may be a reckless thing, but the one being she will never risk hurting for the whole of her immortal existence is Aziraphale.

Even if Aziraphale can never be hers to have.)

**Author's Note:**

> I thought this would be a lot shorter bc, as mentioned in 'Sweet Offerings' and 'Love Handles', they're interrupted mid-sex. But I wanted to give them more time together and realised, _hey, boobs!_ :D 
> 
> Crowley is a milkmaid bc I read ‘Rolling in the Dew’ by Blue_Sparkle ages ago and never got over it <3  
> I’m not even gonna pretend that the ‘kneel’ scene wasn’t inspired by Fleabag alksfjag ~~but yanno, in reverse~~
> 
> I tried to keep the angst factor lowkey bc I’ve been writing too many pre-Armageddon fics back to back in this verse haha! If you guys have any ideas (pre- or post-Armageddon, I'm all in), hit me up
> 
> That said, let me know what you thought of my first time writing the Wives? <3 I'm also on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) and [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com)
> 
> More of my other Ineffable Husbands fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Phoenix_Soar)


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